


Capturing Flame

by Katia_chan



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, art therapy, sometimes property damage is a good thing, the closest friendships sometimes involve a little vandalism, there's no paint on the books it's fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25273075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katia_chan/pseuds/Katia_chan
Summary: Caleb sometimes wishes Jester's kindest impulses didn't involve defacing his room. But he can't actually argue with the results. Their cleric is an insightful vandal,, who seems to know how to heal more than just wounds.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Capturing Flame

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to write ficlets for a friendship version of the widojest prompts. And I managed to do... exactly one before life reminded me that not only am I terrible at maintaining structure, but also that I'm actually in spite of my constant field of chaos, too much of a perfectionist to write a fic in a day. So I gave up on that ambition, but I did get an idea for one of the prompts that I actually liked, so I decided to keep fiddling with it, and it didn't seem to turn out too bad.  
> This is written as a friendship fic, but feelings can easily be read into it, and that's totally great too. I think the lines in this group between friendship, family, and everything else are pretty damn blurry, so read this in whatever light fills your soul with carnivorous unicorns. :)

"Caaaaaleb," Jester sings, dancing down the hall towards him, a blue whirlwind in skirts. "I have a surprise for yoooouuuuuu."

Caleb looks up from his book and notices two things. The first is that the direction Jester is prancing from is the same direction as his room, which implies that she has been in there, unsupervised, for some unknown amount of time, by herself. The second thing he notices, which compounds his concern, is that her hands are absolutely smeared with... is it blood? or paint? He legitimately cannot tell, and... it's Jester. Either outcome is very, very likely.. All he can tell is that it looks fresh, which still doesn't narrow it down enough for him to be certain.

"What sort of surprise?" he inquires, and he tries not to sound as worried as he feels, tries not to sound like existential pits of dread have opened up beneath him, because as kind as Jester is, respect for property is definitely not one of her strong points. This is concerning at the best of times, and when she's coming out of his room, it is terrifying.

"Well if I told you," she scolds, not bothering to finish as she makes a grab for his sleeve. He intercepts her with his hand, which is easier to wash than his coat, and takes note of the stickiness of her fingers as they close over his. The blood vs paint question remains up for debate. But when has he, have any of them, ever been able to resist her?

"I do not really want people going into my room when I am not there," he tells her as he is towed along, but his objections are met with a harder tug to his hand and a silvery giggle that says she knows and chooses not to accept the fact of this reality.

"I know, I know, but I promise you'll like it, and I promise I didn't touch any of your books, or get any paint on any of your things. I was very, very careful." Okay, so paint, then. He probably shouldn't be this relieved of that certainty, but here they are, well, really, here is Jester. And anyway the relief is short-lived as she reaches for the door handle.

"Still, I'd rather you not..." The rest of the sentence is ripped away as she flings open the door, and he is met with a wall of fire.

"Jester...." The mural is so vivid, that its presence is enough to set his heart racing and his palms sweating. Deep red flames slide over the floor, climbing the walls into orange, into yellow, dancing and bending, colors tripping over each other and twisting until he can almost hear the crackle, can almost smell the smoke. The yellows fade into a bright flashing blue-white at the top, just paint and yet somehow eye-searingly bright. It splashes over the wall, up to the ceiling, tongues licking up into the corners, disappearing behind his bed, tumbling and cascading over every inch of exposed wall space until he has to shut his eyes to try to slow his hammering pulse. It is so...

"Jester," he repeats in a breathless whisper, and he is not certain at all if he is in awe, or furious, or if he will fold into an absolute panic and throw up right here. It just looks... so real. He wants to ask her why she would do this, why she would brand his greatest sin all over the walls of his bedroom, where he can never escape from it, where he will go to sleep at night staring up at the ceiling watching flames engulf him.

"You're very good with fire," she says, and she's not laughing now--her voice goes soft, like she can sense his panic--it's only then that he manages to open his eyes, and also realizes his hands have actually started shaking, that she can feel the tremors in his fingers. "But I know you're scared of it. I don't know why... and that's okay. But," and she pauses to find the right word, "you use it to save us, every day. And it's beautiful, isn't it?"

He's thought before that fire was beautiful, but it was always a frightening thought. It was the thought he had after a fight, when something he had scorched to death burned and the fire made him feel strong, entranced, and it was usually followed by screams that echoed in his head and a remembered scent of burning flesh, and then he'd come to, being hauled away from the flames. It was beautiful in a way that made him test his limits until one day maybe sooner rather than later he'd go too far or wait too long and burn himself from the inside out. But this... the way the colors twist and dance, the way they curve up the window and caress every hard edge until it almost seems to blur into softness, this... he could see, with the flames frozen in time, that perhaps...

"It is," he says, hoarsely, unable to take his eyes off the terrifying grandeur in front of him. She pulls his hand again, gentler this time, and takes him over to the wall. Then she lifts his limp fingers and places them into the thick, red flames. He reflexively wants to pull away...

"And it's cold," she tells him, in that soft, settled tone she uses when she knows her friends need the power of her certainty, her faith that creates gods and shapes the world around her. "It's safe. You can see that it's safe, every day. And maybe someday you won't be so scared."

The fire actually seems to be moving in front of his eyes, but he knows it's the tears that have sprung up to blur his vision. He looks away so she won't see, for all the good it will do. She doesn't comment, simply holds his hand against the wall.

"It is not as tranquil as Yasha's wildflowers," he finally manages, though his voice is raspy. She beams up at him, her eyes soft and warm as she releases his hand.

"I don't know, I think it is, in its own way.. Though," and she frowns, "it's all smudgy from your hand. I suppose we shouldn't have touched it when it was wet." Her mildly vexed pout is enough to shake him out of himself, and he smiles, squeezing her messy hand in his.

"I'm sorry. Do you want help fixing it?" She shakes her head and smiles back at him.

"No, it's okay. I'll do it. It's just a little spot, and besides," she wrinkles her nose at him, thoughtful and critical, "I don't know if you can paint."

He's pretty sure he can't. And anyway he likes watching her work, tongue between her teeth, as she hums to herself and erases the smudges of their fingerprints. And he lets the paint dry on his hands as he watches her, feeling a little perplexed, and very loved, which is, he knows, the very essence of Jester Lavorre.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea that Jester heals her family with property damage fills me with happiness. And I hope you enjoyed it too. :) Comments always appreciated; I'm having lots of fun stretching my legs in this fandom, and love knowing if you have anything to say about the work. :)


End file.
